Disclaimer: The following story is a mostly fictional account of the author's experiences and associations while a college student. It contains graphic depictions of sexual activity between consenting men and women, and consenting men and other men. Any resemblance of the characters to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If it is illegal for you to read such material in your locale, then please move on to something else.
This story is copyrighted, 2006, and may not be reprinted, reposted or reproduced without the expressed consent of the author.
Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
"Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and a Johnsonville Brat," he said to himself. That's what he wanted. And cole slaw, too. The brat on a hard roll with Kraft "M and C" snuggling up next to it, with slaw. His mind went back home for a few minutes. "And some pasta salad, too. Damn! That'd be friggin' awsome! And, with Mom's baked beans and Nana's potato salad to fill out the plate. A crisp Kosher dill to complete the ensemble. It'd be fucking heaven. Fuckin'a!" He picked up the pace and breathed even harder as he envisioned the banquet plate in front of him.
"Damn!" He'd had to blow off lunch in order to get too much shit done in too little time. The fucking WSA committees needed his attention, and he had to present them in less than two hours.
Scott was panting as he kicked it up for the final seven blocks of his run. "I'm fucking starving," he scolded himself as he ran past several duplexes and apartment complexes, all with "For Rent" signs out front. "Note to self: rent off campus next year, with a grill on the deck or the patio, and a stove to boil pasta and make the cheese-flavored goo that makes up the Kraft "M and C." Kraft Macaroni and Cheese! Next to Raman Noodles, every college student's staple. Manna from heaven. Damn! Was he hungry!!
Scott was half-way down the hallway when he heard the laughter. It was coming from his room. "What the fuck?" he sputtered as he looked at his watch. It was 5:30, on a Wednesday evening. Cheap Trick was playing behind the door, and a faint though familiar odor caught his nose.
"Heads up!" Craig shouted. Scott's hand instinctively went up, and he caught the can of Leinenkugel's.
"What's the occasion?" Scott asked the assembled crowd. They were all there. "Somebody we don't like die or something?"
"Your roomie is finally gainfully employed. He can quit servicing the dried up old hags at the retirement home," Brett handed him a lit joint.
Craig protested. "Hey! They're not all that dried up. Plus, they all have their late husbands' estates, so they pay pretty well."
"Yeah," Jesse chimed in with a giggle, "and their expectations are low."
Scott, chuckled, thought it over and checked his watch. "What the fuck," he muttered. "Maybe a mild buzz will help tonight." He reached into the closet and grabbed a towel and his shaving kit. The sandwich would have to wait until after the meeting. He hit the joint and opened the beer. "Job, huh? Do tell!"
"He's poised to take those first few baby steps toward his Pulitzer!" Marty's eyes were a bit bloodshot and glassy. No doubt the celebration had been his idea
"'The Isthmus' hired me! They actually offered me a friggin' job!" Craig was giddy. My prof. really liked the piece I wrote after interviewing the governor's press secretary. Showed it to some friends in the local press, and the lady from "The Isthmus" called the other day. I interviewed over there on Friday, and they called and offered a small job today." "The Isthmus" was the free, weekly alternative paper that played best in Madison's most liberal circles, a fact that made Craig a little suspicious. But, it was a job in print.
Scott peeled off his sweats. "No shit! You didn't say anything."
Craig shrugged, "Well, you haven't quite been a regular fixture in the room lately. Besides, I wasn't sure what it'd come to, so I kinda kept it under my hat."
He took a drink of his beer. It did taste good after a vigorous run. "So what's the deal?"
"Well, initially it's going to be covering the local arts stuff, mostly music. Poor me, I'll need to go to concerts and review the local bands. Sometime covering bigger names when they play in town. It's far from full time, but about what I have time for. Practically all weekend work, with Monday deadlines for my reviews."
"Free concerts, access to the headliners, nymphette groupies bouncing their pert titties around, and getting paid for the trouble." Brett shook his head. "Who'd you have to blow to get a gig like that?"
Craig shook his head. "Actually my boss is a chick, but I'd do her in a heartbeat, if she merely hinted that she had an itch that needed scratching."
Jesse handed Scott the joint again. He took a small hit. He coughed. "So, you said `initially.' It could become something bigger?"
"If I do good, she said there might be room for me on the political beat, covering the city, county and state government."
Brett smirked. "You could write the expose about the college freshman whose been snuggling with the new majority leader."
Scott flipped him off, picked up his beer and opened the door. "Got to hit the shower and head over to The Union. The people's business is calling me tonight."
Marty tossed him his towel as he stepped out of the shower stall. "Lookin' good, professor. You been workin' out?"
Scott scoweled and rolled his eyes. "Something on your mind, or you just come to peek?"
Marty's grin evaporated. "Can we talk, Scott?"
"Now Marty? I'm running late already. I have a pleasant little buzz going here and you're pretty baked." He glared at Marty while he dried his back, his cock waving back and forth as his arms slid the towel up and down.
Marty shrugged. "Okay, maybe not now, but soon, huh? Ya' know, I'm not goin' anywhere, and it just doesn't do either one of us any good to be so friggin' uncomfortable every time we have to share the same space."
Scott thought about it as he dried his hair. He was probably right. They might not ever really be true friends again. But a `come to terms' conversation probably was in order. If he could find common ground with the likes of Bart Morrison and Kip Monmouth, he and Marty ought to be able to make nice. "Yeah, I suppose it oughta happen. But I think that's a conversation we should maybe have when neither one's brain is impaired."
Marty smiled, hopefully.
Scott toweled his balls and crotch. "Tell you what. I'm having breakfast early tomorrow. Meet me in the cafeteria at about seven." He wrapped the towel around his waist.
Marty held the door and nodded. "Cool. Seven it is."
Kelly stared at the computer screen in disbelief. The email was timed and dated the night before, but she was seeing it for the first time. As a member of the Greek Council, Kelly was on the delivery list to which Kip had been forced to send his message. There was a knock on Kelly's door. "Kel...delivery for you." She slowly opened the door and peeked out. The Chapter's president was holding a huge array of fall flowers.
"For me? You sure?"
Suzi stepped in and closed the door. "Oh, Kel! You read your email lately?"
Kelly looked at the floor, a mix of embarrassment and relief was whirling around her head and her heart.
Suzi put the flowers on the desk. "They're lovely, don't you think?"
Kelly nodded. Suzi grabbed her by the shoulders. "Oh, Kelly! I just knew that all that bullshit that Kip and his thugs were throwing around was just that. Everybody who really knows you knew that too!" She pulled Kelly into a hug. Tears welled in Kelly's eyes as she returned the embrace. "I'm just so grateful that the son of a bitch came to his senses and did the right thing. Wonder what got into him?"
In her mind, Kelly saw Marty's impish grin. "Who knows, Suz'?" She wiped her eyes, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's history. I knew that my real friends weren't buying the shit he was selling, anyway. I'm getting on with my life."
"Atta girl! You go!" Suzi patted her shoulder and quietly exited the room.
There was a large card attached to the floral arrangement. A puppy dog with a huge frown, and a tear dropping from one eye adorned the front. Inside, she recognized Kip's handwriting. "Dear Kelly, By now you might be aware of my attempt to set the record straight throughout the Houses. That was the best I could do as a first step. Still, I feel a genuine and heart-felt need to try to square things between the two of us. I know this is superficial, and I wouldn't blame you for telling me to go to hell, but at least I needed to try. It is my sincerest hope that you will find a way to forgive me for my boorish behavior and my gross inconsideration. I am truly, truly sorry for all I have done. If there is anything else I might be able do to atone for all those wrongs, please tell me what it is. I do hope we can be friends. Be well, Kip."
Kelly sat back and looked at the flowers, trying to decide what to make of it all.
Scott was already in the conference room, across from the lecture hall where the WSA had its meetings, reading the newspaper when Kip walked in. Scott's eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped. "Kip! What the hell...?" Kip was sporting a black eye, and his lower lip appeared a little swollen.
Kip just scowled. "Had a disagreement back at the house amongst a few of the brothers. Got out of hand. Don't worry about it...doesn't concern you." He took a seat across from Scott. "Where's Bart?" Kip was clearly in a fowl mood.
Scott checked his watch. "He's usually about five minutes late for just about everything. Should be here any minute." Scott carefully looked at Kip's face again, and grinned a little. "Hope you gave as good as you got." Kip didn't respond. Bart sauntered in and took a seat at the end of the table, between the other two.
Scott handed them a list of committee assignments, including the designated chairs of each group. "Gentlemen, I believe these are an approximate lineup of what we discussed last week, as well as the recommendations each of you e-mailed to me. Thanks for your help."
Kip scanned the list. Scott was confounded by his continued sneer as he panned the list.
Morrison scarcely glanced at it. "Yeah, whatever! Looks good to me." He checked his watch, then looked back at Scott. "Anything else?"
"Uhhmm...no, Bart. This is all we had to discuss. I just thought at least there'd be some discussion."
"Not here. Still got twenty minutes before the meeting. I'm gonna go have a smoke."
"And we're all set with the other couple items on the agenda tonight? I mean, the motions and stuff?"
"Yup," and out he went.
As he exited, Scott looked back at Kip and shook his head. "And that dumb mope actually wanted to be president of this organization?" He grinned a bit and hoped that Kip might join him. "Anything wrong, Kip?"
Kip looked at the wall over Scott's shoulder. "Nope."
"Kip...clearly, you're pissed about something, and I'm getting the feeling that you're hacked off at me for some reason."
Finally, Kip lashed out. "Gimme a fuckin' break! You got me by the balls already, don't rub it in by playing dumb and innocent."
Scott was grasping now, completely confused. "Come on, Kip! Fill me in! You gotta talk to me, or...
Kip cut him off with an angry glare, "or what...or you're going to sick your little pit bull on me again?"
Scott looked back blankly. "Huh?"
"Do you always send Marty Anderson in to do your dirty work, Turner?"
"What the...?" Scott blinked and shook his head. "I practically haven't seen the guy in a couple weeks. We've only talked, like, once or twice, since God knows when."
"Well, as long as you guys still have the disk, I suppose you'll be able to keep me in my place. Don't worry about it."
"Disk? What the hell are you talking about? What friggin' disk, man?"
Scott was getting pissed now.
It finally hit Kip, and he was stunned. Marty had been telling the truth. Scott really didn't know that Marty still had the pictures, or that he'd blackmailed him in the computer lab. He stared in disbelief for an uncomfortable period of time. Finally he put a cogent thought together. "Well, you'll probably put it all together sooner or later, might as well be now."
Kip admitted his crude behavior the night of Homecoming, although he sugar-coated it heavily. Without fully describing his violent streak or his vicious voice, he tried to excuse himself by blaming the alcohol he'd consumed, and the fact that he and Kelly had messed around previously. Then, he described his, Chet's and a few other guys' moves to paint her as a whore with some friends. He frowned, and his voice broke a couple of times, as he recalled the episode in the computer lab when Marty blackmailed him into doing the right thing. Then he described the confrontation that ensued back at the house after the e-mail was sent. "Chet was nuts after that e-mail went out! True to form, he had played our story about Kelly to the hilt. According to him, he'd been all over her. In her mouth, in her pussy...sorry...and she was begging for more, according to Chet. The e-mail Marty made me send called him out on all of it, and he finally looks like the ass that he really is. The guy's a both a dog and a fraud in the eyes of our brothers right now." He pointed to his black eye. "He did this, if it helps at all."
Scott was steaming. He wanted to climb over the table and commit numerous crimes against this scum. He fought mightily to maintain his composure. "Well, at least there's that. There is some consolation in the fact that you tried to rape and then ruin one of the nicest people on the planet, who was basically doing you a favor by even showing up with you at Homecoming."
Kip put up a hand. "Scott! I know! You gotta know...I know!! I was a fucker! In a lot of ways, Anderson was right." The guy was actually contrite.
Kip was spilling his guts now. "Anyway, Chet's mounting a movement to have me booted from the Frat. I could be a short-timer here, just so you know. He's got a movement starting to toss me out for bringing disrepute to the house. More than that, if he wins, they'll press me to resign from the WSA, too."
Scott looked confused.
Kip shrugged. "Actually, it makes sense. I led the effort to have the Greek faction elected, and they elected me. Chet will try to bring enough public pressure to resign, and he has already talked to "Radar" about the ins and outs of a recall effort. He's out to crush my balls."
Kip looked at the ceiling, tears welling in the bottom lids of both eyes. "You know, my father will disown me if I get tossed from the house. I'm third generation in our brotherhood. He will fucking go berserk! Grandpa will keel over from a heart attack and father will disown me."
Scott wanted to spit in Kip's face for his self-pity. "Get out." He was as devoid of emotion as he could be.
"Huh?"
Scott shot the most threatening glance he had, without even knowing it.
"Get out of this room. Now." His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. "We might discuss this again. I need to think. Now, get the fuck out of my face."
Without saying a word, Kip slowly rose and exited the room.
Scott's mind was racing. "Take a breath, Scotty." He heard his dad saying.
"Okay, I should kill him first for what he did to Kelly. Then, I should kill Marty for lying and breaking his promise about the pictures and the disk. The fucker gave me his word! How do you do the right thing while fucking over a friend at the same time?!"
Then, his mind returned to Kip. "I need that fucker on board, goddammit! I worked too hard to get him in on the same page as me! He could get tossed, and then what do I have to work with?"
Scott stuck his head into the lecture hall. He took a breath. "Hey, Walter?"
"Yeah, Scott! Hey!" Walter waved. "How's it goin'?"
Scott forced a smile. "Well, it could be better, but you can help that happen."
Walter was on his feet, looking very serious. "What do ya' need, Scott?"
"Your laptop booted up?"
"Of course! We're due to start in about," he looked at his watch, "fifteen."
"I need you to relocate it to the conference room, and then check downstairs for a copier we can use."
"Oh, no problem. I know the gal at the front desk" he winked, "if ya' know what I mean."
Scott nudged him. "You friggin' dawg! Banging the hottie downstairs!"
Walter blushed as his chest swelled. "Well, my man, will you please hook up the laptop in the other room, then ask your squeeze to heat up that copier for us?"
Walter winked. "You got it. Back in a few."
While Walter plugged in the computer, Scott dialed Kelly on his cell and got her voicemail. "Hey. It's me. Would love to talk to you...tonight, if possible. I'll be tied up for about an hour at the WSA. Call me when you have a minute. Really want to talk to you tonight, though, Kelly. Please call me when you get this."
"The computer's all set! Be right back." Walter smiled and Scott patted him on the back as he put the phone away.
Scott found his only WSA disk, and popped it in. He typed for a minute, then peeked out the door, typed another minute, then peeked out the door, typed another few minutes, then Walter showed up.
"Good to go, when you are, Scott."
He smiled. "And, is she?"
Walter blushed. "She's always good to go."
Scott let go with a big laugh. "You whore!" He hit "Save," then ejected the disk. He put a hand on his shoulder as they got to the door of the conference room. "Walter, I need you to go and print the file "Plan-B," and make about 35 copies, then get back here ASAP!"
Walter grabbed the disk. "You got it, chief!"
Scott looked out and saw Chet standing and talking with some other frat boys.
He shouted, as quietly as he could. "Chet...we got about ten minutes before we start. Can I have a few of them alone with you?" Chet scowled back, but he was curious.
"Okay." As he neared the room, Scott noted the large Band-Aid on his forehead, beneath the bangs that draped down just above his eyebrows. He smirked at the image of Chet falling into a piece of furniture, a stair railing, or the corner of a wall or window sill.
Walter arrived with the stack of pages. Scott thanked him and quietly dismissed his ace clerk. `He really is Radar for Chrissake,' he thought to himself.
He turned back to Chet. "I apologize, but I didn't have time to touch base with you on this before tonight. I just wanted to give you a heads up on committee assignments, and to see if you have a problem with any of this." He handed Chet one page, then watched as he read from top to bottom.
He didn't have to read far before his mouth dropped.
"You're making me chair of the finance committee? Shit! That's the..."
"That's part of the arrangement we made. The greeks get half of the chairs, the non-greeks get the other half. These are, more or less, the recommendations I got from Kip and Bart."
"That's Plan A." He slid a second sheet across the table. "Here's plan B." Chet's face went dark. In this version, the Finance Committee had Bart Morrison named as its chair.
"Morrison? That tree-hugging, dope-smoking leftist freak of a fag?!" He stared at Scott in utter disbelief, his face growing more and more red by the second.
Scott shrugged. "Hey. He's been here longer than any of us. Longer that me, you and Kip put together. Don't you think he's earned his share?"
Chet shook his head in disgust, and then had to scan the list twice to find his name listed at all. While most members were appointed to at least two committee assignments, his name was listed once. In this version he was to be the only fraternity member on the four-member Social/Public Relations Committee.
"What the fuck? This is..."
Scott's gaze bore into Chet. "You're going to call off the dogs, Chet."
"Huh?"
"Kip's going to remain a member in good standing of your frat house. He's going to remain a duly elected member of this body, and its vice president. You're going to get off his fucking case. In fact, you're going to make nice, and you're going to do it before our meeting begins."
Chet's face was a contortion of confusion and anger. "What the hell do you care..."
Scott cut him off. "I care. It's in my nature. So, sue me."
Chet shook his head. "He's going down."
Scott leaned back in his seat and locked his fingers behind his head. "The so will you. From chair of finance to WSA head waiter. Chet, your choices are clear. I present Plan A this evening, and you spend the coming year as the one guy, next to me of course, with the loudest voice in how we allocate our two hundred thousand dollar budget. The leaders of every organization on campus will be standing in line to kiss your ample ass. You'll set the WSA's priorities in stone through your leadership on allocating a boat-load of student fees."
Chet liked how that sounded.
Scott shrugged. "Or, I present Plan B, and you spend the year organizing the WSA's Christmas Party, hosting punch and cookie receptions for alumni, and giving tours to snotty little prospective students and their over-protective and overbearing parents. Not that I don't think you could handle it, you understand." He smirked and Chet frowned. "On top of that, as far as the body at large is concerned, if you don't kiss and make up with Kip, I'll see to it that nothing, no initiative, no proposal, no suggestion that has as much as your fingerprints on it, will ever see the light of day.
Who knows? The presiding officer might even fail to see your raised hand should you ever wish to address the Senate. You'll be the WSA Senate's human paper weight."
He held a stack in each hand. "So, in about five minutes," he nodded across the hallway, "I'm going to walk in there. I'll see you speaking with Kip, and I'll watch approvingly as you extend a hand and wrap up your `I'm sorry...I over-reacted...let's have a clean slate' apology. Once that happens, Plan A becomes fact. Or, I'll see you and him on opposite sides of the room. I'll ask him if you two have spoken. He'll say no and tell me to mind my own fucking business. Then Plan B goes out. And, Chet, you know that committee assignments are the total and complete prerogative of the president. There will be no vote."
Scott stood and placed both hands flat on the table, leaning over. "You're in the driver's seat, chief. Buckle up and drive safely." Scott left the room.
He went to the men's room to take a quick piss before heading into the meeting. He also wanted to give Chet enough time to do the smart thing. On his way back, he slowed his stride and took out his cell phone again. He pushed a couple of buttons, and Walter overheard, "Hey, Kelly, it's me again. Really want to talk, tonight if possible. Please give me a call when you get this. I might be in a meeting, so the phone will be off for a while, but leave a message. Please?"
He caught Walter's eye as he was putting the phone away, and waved him over.
"Yeah, Scott? We're all ready to go!"
Scott smiled. "Never any doubt, my man. I want to give it a couple more minutes. We might start a few minutes late, but a couple guys need to take care of some preliminaries. Ironing out a few wrinkles." He winked.
"No problem." Walter wanted to ask what was up, but he would never do that. If Scott needed or wanted him to know something, there'd be a good reason for it and he'd talk.
"Hey, Walter, what do you know about this e-mail that Kip supposedly circulated throughout Greek Land regarding my friend, Kelly."
Walter rolled his eyes and grinned a little. "Ohh, Jeez! Quite a bombshell, I hear! Rocked Langdon Street form one end to the other." He leaned toward Scott and whispered, "some say Kip's days in the fraternity might be numbered. I hear Chet has it out for him."
"Can you get me a copy of the message Kip sent? I'm, uhmm, just curious."
Walter nodded. He opened the portfolio under his arm and handed him a folded piece of paper. "Thought you'd want to see it. A buddy of mine is in a frat, and a, uhhmm, a special friend of his, is an officer on the send-to list. Don't tell anybody where you got this, huh?"
Scott shook his head and sighed in amazement at the guy's telepathy and efficiency. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Walter, there's no reason for me to even tell anybody else I've read it. I just care about Kelly, and am curious. That's all."
"Yeah, Scott. You're a lucky guy! She seems really cool! And beautiful!"
"Thanks, man." He nodded toward the door to the lecture hall. "You should go get set up. That'll signal everybody we're ready to start, and I'll be right in." Scott read the message. "Well, for a lying son of a bitch who can't be trusted to keep his word any farther you can throw him, Marty can write pretty well." He caught him self smirking, and immediately shook it off. He asked himself again, "How can a guy, in one move, do a good thing and shit on a friend? The asshole should have talked with me first. He promised he wouldn't use those fucking pictures, and he told me they were gone!"
Scott walked into the meeting hall. The first thing he noticed was Walter sitting in his usual seat near the podium, staring slack-jawed toward the back of the room. Looking to his right, he saw Kip and Chet face to face, both looking rather serious, but shaking hands nonetheless.
Kip walked to the front of the room to assume the vice president's seat. He had one of those deer-in-the-headlights expressions. He stepped up close to Scott and whispered. "What the fuck did you do?"
Scott shook his head, and shrugged. "Don't bother. It's all good. Consider it a gesture of good will, from me to you. One you don't deserve and probably never will, but that makes sense to me. That's all you need to know. Now, please have a seat."
Scott called the meeting to order. As required by Wisconsin State Statute, Scott let the group in the Pledge of Allegience, and then Walter called the roll. All but one of the members were present. Only Senator Ellingson, the skater dude who entertained Scott at the last meeting, was missing. No surprise there, Scott thought.
"Ladies and gentlemen the agenda is short and the meeting tonight should be brief." Scott stepped from behind the podium with a short stack of papers in his hand. He looked at Chet, who nodded as subtly as he could.
He handed about a third of the pages to the person sitting at the end of the three rows of desks they occupied. He returned to the podium. "As you know, the assignments of WSA members to our various committees, and the appointment of the chair of each committee is the prerogative of the president. After careful consideration, some discussions, and with high hopes, I have concluded that the arrangement before you will serve the students of the UW for the coming year. Are they any questions?"
No one raised their hand to be recognized, though several member whispered among themselves. "It is from within these committees that the vast majority of our business will come to the full body, and I am confident that we can tackle the challenges and tasks before us. Mr. Jamieson has instructions for each of the committee chairs for proper procedures in scheduling and conducting meetings, filing reports and all the rest."
Scott took a drink of water and paused to give the members another minute to digest the plan he'd just presented. Then, he continued. "There are two action items on this evening's agenda. Our bylaws require that the Senate appoint, annually, a UW student to serve as this organization's clerk. The job description is attached in the packet of information before you. I will now entertain a motion to appoint a clerk. Yes, Senator Monmouth."
Kip rose from his seat. "Mr. President, I am pleased to nominate Mr. Walter Jamieson for reappointment to the position of WSA Clerk."
"Is there a second? Senator Morrison?"
Bart rose. "Second, and I ask unanimous consent that the nominations be closed."
"Is there an objection to the senator's unanimous consent request? Hearing none, so ordered." Bang!
"Alright then, it has been moved and seconded that Walter Jamieson be appointed WSA Clerk for a term not to exceed one calendar year. All those in favor, please say `aye.'"
A roar of "Aye!" boomed. Walter smiled.
Those opposed? Silence.
Bang! "Let the record reflect that, on a unanimous vote, Walter Jamieson has been named WSA Clerk for the coming year." Scott paused to allow for a round of applause. Walter kept on tapping on his keyboard, but nodded his thanks.
"Okay, moving on. For your information, it has been more than two years since the stipend we allocate for the position of clerk has been increased. Further, a survey of comparable positions within the Big Ten shows that the WSA's clerk is second from the bottom in terms of compensation. Accordingly, the executive committee is suggesting a five-hundred dollar a year increase, to three-thousand dollars a year, for the WSA Clerk. The chair will entertain a motion to act on this measure. Senator Monmouth?"
Kip rose again, "So moved, Mr. President."
"Is there a second? Yes, Senator Morrison?"
"Second."
"It has been moved and seconded to accept the Executive Committee's recommendation on compensation for the office of WSA Clerk. All those in favor?"
Another chorus of "Aye."
"Opposed?"
Silence.
Bang! "Motion carries, unanimously!"
Walter looked over at Scott, beaming his thanks and admiration. Scott winked at him.
"Before adjourning, I will encourage you to meet, at least briefly in your committees this evening to set a general meeting schedule. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for your willingness to serve, and tell you that I am looking forward to working with you in the best interests of the student body of the University of Wisconsin. There being no other business before the body, I will entertain a motion to adjourn." Kip was already on his feet. "Senator Monmouth."
"Mr. President, I move that the Senate stand adjourned until the next published meeting date."
Bart was also on his feet. "Senator Morrison."
"Second."
"All in favor?"
"Aye!"
"Opposed?"
Silence.
Bang! "The WSA Student Senate is adjourned."
Everybody rose, and the various committee chairs began calling out to form small huddles near each of their desks. Walter came over to Scott, and extended his hand. "Jeeez, Scott! Even I didn't see that coming! And, don't mean to brag, bit I don't miss very much. Thanks a lot! I can really use it!"
Scott patted his shoulder. "Well, then, consider me to be a special challenge. Maybe I'll try to slide a few others past you, just to check your systems." `Radar' rolled his eyes and blushed a little. Scott put a hand on his shoulder, "Walter, if we had it, I'd have asked for more. We'll work on it. But, hey! I did see that there is a national conference for college student governments in San Diego in February. I've looked at their program, and there are some break-out sessions for support staff. Check your calendar. I think there may be money in the budget to send you. I might have to insist you attend."
Walter's eyes bugged out. "Shoot! I've got family out there, but have never visited! Twist my arm, Scott!! Holy Cow! California in February! Darn! You're the greatest!"
"I'm only looking out for the organization's most valuable asset."
Kip was standing behind Walter, trying to get enough eye contact to interrupt the love fest that was going on between the president and his clerk. Almost involuntarily, a voice in his head said, `God, he's good! That little nerd would walk across hot coals for him, and then thank him for the trouble.'
Kip finally caught his eye, and Scott let Walter go. "Thanks again, my friend. Gotta take care of a little more business and then get the hell out of here."
Walter's eyes widened a bit. "Oh shoot! I almost forgot! Do you plan to move anything into your office?"
"Office? Didn't know I had one."
"Yeah, and it's a nice one, on the second floor. Actually, the president's office is a two-room suite. The V.P. is next door, though they can adjoin if you move a file cabinet from the doorway. The secretary and the treasurer have offices, too, but they're more like closets. Come on by when you can, and I'll give you the tour."
"I'll stop by on my way to the morning class to check it out."
"'Kay!" See you then." Walter went back to packing up his stuff.
Scott glared at Kip. "Need something?"
Kip was more than a little contrite, and still a lot confused over what Scott had done, and why. "Well...I would, er, like to talk for a minute, if we could?"
Scott checked his watch, then his phone for missed calls. None. He nodded. "Okay." Walter was just leaving, but some of the other members were still huddled in small groups, planning their committee functions. He looked at Kip coldly. "Let's go back across the hall."
Scott led the way into the conference room. Kip closed the door. "So, what the hell did you do with Chet to get him off my ass?"
Scott was dispassionate. "What does it matter, Kip? I used some leverage to make him wise up, and to keep you in place. I made a calculated decision that Chet would be more interested in having some power around here than in hurting you any further. I was right. It worked. That's all you need to know."
Kip had already pretty well figured that much out, so the remaining question was left. "But why? I don't get it. I thought if anybody around here ought to want to see me dragged through the mud, it'd be you."
"Trust me when I tell you that I'd like nothing better than to see you dragged through mud, through horseshit, through anything at all, and I'd love to do the dragging myself." He took a breath and focused. "But seeing others suffer doesn't bring any advantage beyond some dark sense of satisfaction. But what can you do with that? Nothing."
Scott folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. " I looked at the balance of power we've worked out here, and I considered the prospect of all that being upset. I thought about the notion of you being replaced by an unknown entity. None of that would bode well for the WSA right now. We've worked fairly hard to establish some sort of understandings and working relationship. We can still do some good around here, but if the status quo in our respective positions were tossed out the window, it could all go in the shitter."
He paused to let it sink in. "Besides, I kept hearing something my dad used to say from time to time: `sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.'
Kip thought it over and it made political sense. He smiled a small smile. "So... now I'm the devil, am I?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Kip. You're not that talented." Scott thought another moment. "You'd have drugged Eve and begged Adam to feed you his cock." Kip's upper lip curled in a snarl, and he instinctively snorted an arrogant scoff. It was his habit when he had nothing to say. Scott continued. "But, I have no doubt that, if you don't clean up your act, the day will come when you and Beelzebub will be on a first-name basis. I'm guessing he's got some space saved with your name on it." Scott was certain that Kip was going to look up "Beelzebub" when he got back to his room tonight.
Kip's vacant expression left Scott feeling as though he wasn't getting it. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Okay, take notes if you have to, Kip. You ran for this office because you wanted to strike a blow for `the right people,' whatever the fuck that means, and to pick up a gold star for your resume. I ran because I thought I could contribute to the organization and to the quality of student life. I know it's a radical idea, but there really are issues and questions that are bigger than just you and bigger than just little old me. I want to leave this place better than I found it! When I got here tonight, I thought that all the pieces were in place to do that. Chet's hostility threatened to toss it all in the can. You need to know that I didn't do anything tonight for you. I did it for what is, in my feeble mind, the good of this organization and its purpose. You need to remember that. You have to wrap your brain around the idea that this isn't about you, and it isn't about me. And if you can't get that into your heart and your guts, I'm betting you won't make it through the year."
Kip was listening intently, rubbing the swollen bruise next to and beneath his right eye. Scott still couldn't tell if any of this was sinking in, but he was done trying.
"Now, any more questions tonight?"
Kip looked up suddenly, as if jolted from some deep thought. "Uhm, no.
No, Scott, no. I got it."
Scott just nodded and left the room
At quarter-to-seven, Marty walked into the cafeteria. He wanted to have a cup of coffee to finish waking up, and wolf down a bagel with lots of butter and cream cheese before Scott got there. He wanted to be waiting at a table with a good view of the door.
Just as the door was closing behind him, he stopped short. There was Scott, sliding his own tray and dirty dishes into the return window, quickly retrieving the napkin to wipe his mouth before tossing the tissue into the large garbage can. Scott did a one-eighty and headed for the opposite exit, his hands now thrust into his pockets.
This didn't feel good at all. Marty dropped his backpack into one of the booths and followed, but Scott had a healthy head start. When Marty hit the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, he was met with a blast of cold November air. It took his breath away, but he picked up the pace. Scott was striding down the sidewalk with purpose, both hands dug deep into the pockets of his jeans. "Scott!" Marty yelled, but the combination of whipping wind and a passing bus on University Avenue drowned out his voice. "Scott! Wait up!" he tried again, but Scott just seemed to pick up the pace. When the traffic came to a stop because of a red light at the intersection, the noise died down. "Goddammit professor!! I need to speak with you, if you please!" Marty had closed the distance between them to about twenty yards, and was now shouting at the top of his lungs.
Scott stopped dead in his tracks and turned. He looked tired and he looked ornery. "What the fuck do you want?"
The cold wind and colder response washed the smile from Marty's face. "We were s'posed to be sitting in there having breakfast right now, remember? It was your idea."
"Changed my mind, once I found out you really are a lying, deceitful son of a bitch, Marty. Maybe I should have called to say so last night, but don't bother. It's not worth your time, or mine."
Marty was frozen, not by the ugly November weather, but by Scott's demeanor. "What the Hell?!" His flat hands were turned upward and his eyes were wide.
Scott stepped toward him and got right in Marty's face. "I finally figured it out. You're a two, maybe three-faced lying bastard, Marty. You make a promise with a straight face and it doesn't mean shit! You say one thing is true when you're the only one who knows it isn't. I can't handle that in anybody, let alone somebody I thought was a friend."
"But I am...I am your friend! What the hell are you talking about?"
They were standing near the bright yellow pole of the stoplight. Scott's finger was still in his face. "I know about the pictures, Marty, and the number you did on Kip! Forget why you did it...there's another issue at work here. I'm pretty sure you're not going to get it, but it means a lot to me, Marty. You sat in my room and told me you didn't have any others. You promised me that those pic's would never see the light of day."
Marty was dumb-founded. "But I didn't..."
Scott trampled on the rest of Marty's protest. "And on top of the lies, you find out that Kelly was nearly raped by that scumbag, and you don't have the decency to tell me about it? Friend? Who the fuck do you think you're kidding? Why not just come right out and tell me that you think I'm just another moron? Someone you can con, or charm, or whatever the fuck it is you do to people for your own amusement? Jesus Christ, man! You need a hobby! Something that doesn't include shitting on those around you."
For one of the very few moments in his young life, Marty Anderson was speechless. He knew in his head and his heart how wrong Scott was, but one part of his brain wasn't keeping pace with the rest. He simply couldn't articulate any of the thousand or so objections that were speeding through his head.
Scott sensed that Marty was disarmed, and pounced on the fact. "So, Marty, do us both a favor and just stay the hell away from me. Go find someone else to try and ridicule and manipulate, if that's what really gets your rocks off. But leave me the hell alone!"
Just as Marty was about to utter another, "but..." Scott gauged that the oncoming traffic was negotiable, and he darted out into it. Fifteen or twenty steps, and several honking horns later, and he was across the street.
It took some bobbing and weaving on his part, but he made it.
He never looked back.
Marty kicked over a trash can and tears welled in both eyes.
That night, Scott was hanging a poster on the wall of his new office when there was a knock on the open door. "Scott?"
"Hey, Walter. You always put in office time so late?" He nodded at the clock. It was nearly 8:00 p.m.
"Well, some days, when I have heavy class load and can't be here much during the day, I stick around to stay caught up. It's usually pretty quiet here after 5:00." He dangled a set of keys. "But I'm going to head over to the library, and wanted to give you your keys." He stepped closer to Scott so he could see the details. "This one is for the front door only. This is for your office door only. This one's a master key that opens any office or closet door on the first or second floors. These two are file cabinet keys, and this one's for your desk."
Scott suddenly felt kind of special. "Cool! I've never had a set of office keys before. Thanks!" He fished through them one at time, recalling what each one was for.
Walter shrugged. "No problem. Well, I'm going to head out. Want me to lock the front door when I leave?"
"Nah. I"ll hear the bell if anybody comes in, and I'll lock up when I leave. I'm just gonna finish with the walls, and head out myself."
"'kay. Well, then I'll see you...whenever, I guess."
"I might stop by tomorrow. If you need anything, you have my numbers, right?"
Walter rolled his eyes as if to say, `give me a break!'
"Sorry, stupid question, I know. Have a good night."
Fifteen minutes later, he heard the bell over the front door ring, and the door close with a thud. There were foot steps on the stairs. "Don't tell me you forgot something, Radar!" Scott half-shouted from his desk.
"It's me, Scott. I ran into Radar at the library. He said you were here." Marty appeared in the doorway.
"What do you need?"
"I need a chance to speak my mind. You didn't let me get a word in this morning." He stepped into the office and set his butt on the back of a chair.
Scott looked down at a file on his desk. "Not sure we have much to discuss."
Marty was showing some anger. "Truth is, Scott, this isn't about what we need or want. This is about me, for a change. It's about what I have on my mind, and what I need you to hear."
Scott started to protest, but Marty cut him off... "Please, Scott! This could be the last time we speak. If all I do is say my piece and leave, then so be it, but goddammit, you have got to hear me out! At a minimum, I deserve a chance to be heard. Then, if you want me to leave and get out of your life, so be it."
Scott took a deep breath and gave a small wave in front of the desk. "The floor's all yours." He leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach.
Marty started to pace. He jabbed a finger in the air. "Point one: I wanted to thank you for the kind words you sent my way as part of your speech when you were elected president. You don't know it, but I was there to hear it."
"Marty. I did know. I was talking to you. Your shoe was in the doorway and your reflection was in the door's window."
Marty grinned and shook his head. "I should'a known. Thanks."
Scott nodded, and couldn't entirely suppress a small grin.
Marty looked down and shrugged. "Just needed to say that. It meant a lot."
"My pleasure. What's next?"
"Okay, second." Marty paused and looked to the ceiling for a second. "You were right on the mark about how stupid Randy and me were that night in his truck. That night you invited me. You introduced me to the wonderful Senator Maureen and the friggin' governor of the state. I was there as your, and their, guest. What we did could've embarrassed them and you in unbelievable ways. It was reckless. It was inconsiderate. It was thoughtless. It was every fucking negative adjective you can dig up. You were right to be madder than hell at me." There was a long moment of silence. Then Marty smirked. "Of course, then there is the old Chinese proverb: Man who get blowjob in front of Lincoln Statue should not throw stones at he who fuck in truck."
Scott glared at him. "Not funny, Marty. They're not quite the same thing, and if I'd been busted or harmed in any way, at least it would have been my own damned fault."
"Okay, okay! BUT...I...AM...REALLY...TRULY...SORRY!" Marty shouted so loudly that Scott worried about who might hear. Then he realized they were alone in the building. "I am so fucking sorry for what I did that night! You have to believe that! Shit got out of hand with me and Randy, and I didn't even pause to think about you, Maureen, or anybody else but myself. I was an absolute asshole, and you have every right to want to hang me for that. I'm asking you to accept this apology and forgive me for that. I'm asking for amnesty or whatever friends call it when they cut one another some slack."
Scott stood up, and now he was pacing. "I could do that. I could cut you a lot of slack..." He glared deeply into his eyes. "If I believed any of it. But, Marty, I don't think I can believe anything you say. You promised those pictures of Kip would remain ditched. You said there weren't any others. That's all a crock of shit! You lied about there not being any other pictures of Kip and Brandon, and your promise to permanently deep-six them wasn't worth a bucket of spit."
Marty ran his fingers through his hair. "Now, that's the other thing! I already said what I had wanted to this morning, before you went postal with me on the sidewalk. But, just gimme a few more minutes to explain how godawful friggin' wrong you are about all that other bullshit...and about me. C'mon, Scott! This might be the last conversation we every really have. Give me another ten minutes?"
Scott perched his butt on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. He sighed. "I'm listening, Marty."
"First, you obviously know what happened between Kip and Kelly the night of Homecoming."
Scott nodded.
"Does she know that you know?"
Scott shrugged. "Not sure. I've tried calling, but she hasn't answered any of my calls, and she wasn't in class today."
Marty was a little relieved. "Okay, you gotta do me a favor!" Scott rolled his eyes at the suggestion. "No, really! When you do talk to her, you have to make sure she knows that it didn't come from me." Scott's face questioned him. "I promised her I wouldn't tell you. Regardless of what you might think, when I promise something I'm good for it. I might be a foolish, reckless shit-head at times, but I'm a shit-head with a strong sense of honor and loyalty. This is important, Scott. And, it's the truth.
I didn't tell you anything she shared with me, right?"
Scott nodded. "True enough."
"Then just tell her that, will you?"
Scott shrugged again, his hands still underneath his folded arms. "If it comes up, Marty, I'll make sure she understands that. Okay?"
"Good. Thanks! Now..." Marty's face grew dark. Suddenly, it was he who was the offended, pissed-off one in this picture. "There's one thing you need to know about me, Scott. I learned at an early age to listen carefully and get a clear sense of where the boundaries are. When you grow up with my old man, you learn to follow the letter of the law, even if it's only the letter. I do have a knack, at times, for coloring outside the lines, but I have a gift for determining precisely where those lines are. It's a defense mechanism that's been perfected over the years by the constant need to cover my ass or defend myself in front of my fucker of a father."
Scott had never met the man, but from what he'd heard from Marty, it sounded about right.
"Now, try to recall as much of the conversation we had in your room the day I showed you what I had on Kip. I'd been on the radio that morning, remember? Blowing your fucking horn, by the way."
Scott got irritated and rolled his eyes.
Marty stepped back. "Sorry...irrelevant, I know."
"First, I didn't promise you anything. I never had the chance. You re-formatted the disk I showed you, and deleted that set of pictures. You didn't ask if there was another copy! You only asked me if there was anything else on that disk before you reformatted it. And I didn't say there was or wasn't another one, `cuz you didn't ask." Scott's mind was in rewind, trying to reach back to that conversation.
"And, after you gave your little sermon about not dragging the campaign into the gutter, I agreed that the pictures wouldn't be used for any political advantage to you in your race. I had already used them, once. But that was just to get Kip's thugs to leave you alone, to quit slashing tires and shit like that, but it wasn't public; it wasn't to hurt Kip or to help you in the campaign. I didn't use them to dirty up the campaign, or to harm him in the election in any way. That was what we agreed on."
Scott was still trying hard to recall the specifics of the conversation in his room the morning that Marty first showed him the disk with the dirty pictures.
"And this time, with Kip, I didn't do it for you. I did it for Kelly."
He pointed at Scott in an almost accusing fashion. "But, since Kip's rumors also suggested that she'd caught some nasty stuff from you, you may have benefited from Kip's confession. But frankly, professor, I don't give a flying fuck! I used them this time to set the record straight about Kelly. Believe it or not, not every step I take is with you in mind." He calmed down "I like Kelly. I like Kelly and you together. She was hurting, and I wanted to make it go away. I knew that I could probably pull it off. So, if I hadn't done something, I couldn't look her in the eye again, or myself." He looked at the floor and nearly whispered, "or even you."
He was suddenly bold again and on the offensive. "So, I kept my agreement to keep them out of the campaign, and I didn't lie to you `cuz you never asked if I had a second disk."
Scott was suddenly growing very uncomfortable.
"And another thing!" Marty was on a roll, now. He slapped his chest. "That is MY fucking disk! I set up the hookup with Brandon! I took the pictures with my own camera! It was MY idea, MY camera, MY disk. It might have been a shitty thing to do, but that's beside the point! Who the fuck do you think you are to set terms and conditions about what I can and can't do with my own shit? Especially when it isn't being done in your name?" He took a deep breath. "So go ahead and sit here in your high and mighty office, judging the rest of us poor little peons all you want, but DO NOT try to tell me what I may and may not do with my own goddamned stuff."
"And FINALLY, Mister Fucking President... I am perfectly fucking tired of...AND I AM THROUGH... defending myself to you! I haven't done a single thing that I told you I wouldn't. I do NOT break promises. I do NOT lie, not to friends anyway. And we were friends. I would NEVER do that, and if you don't realize that by now, then you don't know me! You dumb son of a bitch!"
Scott was staring at the floor.
"But still, I guess I should envy you!"
Scott looked up with questions written all over his face. "Huh?"
"It's pretty damn clear that you must have an excess of good friends. Anybody who can throw one away as casually as you can, over something like this, over shit that isn't true...that guy must have a boat load of extras just sitting around waiting to be called. Well, enjoy them all, buddy, but COUNT...ME...OUT!"
After three or four seconds of complete silence, Marty quickly turned and walked out the door.
Author's Note: Okay, no sex this time. Sorry if I disappoint. Originally this was only the first half of this chapter. But I decided I liked ending it here, and it allows me to get it posted about a week or so before it would have been had I finished the entire original story line for this episode. And, Chapter 14 ought to come to you more quickly than they have been in the recent past. I'm very interested in hearing your views on the various characters and their relationships. The motivation to keep writing that your responses provides is very real. So, don't be shy, gang. Give me a shout at Scotty.13411@hotmail.com Love hearing from y'all. (A look ahead...and a special invitation to you guys in Minneapolis and St. Paul. The guys will be going on a road trip to the UW vs. U of M game a couple chapters down the road. Would love to hear from you `Goofer' fans! Especially one of you, and you know who you are.)